


Too Much Time on My Hands

by Jaiden_S



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 13:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1942854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaiden_S/pseuds/Jaiden_S
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bored former elf-lord, a misplaced mug and a big misunderstanding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Much Time on My Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nuinzilien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuinzilien/gifts).



> Title: Too Much Time on my Hands  
> Author: Jaiden S  
> Beta: Alexcat  
> Pairing: Celeborn/?, Thranduil/Haldir  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Archive: Written for Nuinzilien, AiA 2014  
> Request: Any rating. Celeborn has spent most of his adult life ruling one realm or another. NOw he is in Valinor, and there is no realm to rule...what is a bored former Elf Lord to do? Gimme serious! Gimme crack! Gimme serious crack!
> 
> Summary: A bored former elf-lord, a misplaced mug and a big misunderstanding.

“I’m bored,” announced Celeborn to nobody in particular as he sunned himself by the pool.

“Yes, I know,” remarked Haldir from the chaise lounge next to him. “You’ve said so twice in the past half hour.” He lowered his sunglasses and peered at Celeborn over the top of them. “Repeating the phrase endlessly won’t change anything. It will, however, annoy the hell out of me.” A young elf with ebony hair and legs for miles walked past them on his way to the pool. Haldir made no effort to disguise his leering appreciation. He liked it when they walked. 

“Stop ogling and entertain me.” Celeborn gave the passing elf a perfunctory glance. “How many elves have you had, anyway? Fifteen? Thirty?” To Celeborn, it seemed like Haldir bedded a new one each night.

“I don’t know. I’ve lost count.” Haldir adjusted his swimsuit and closed his eyes.

“What was wrong with the redhead I saw you with last week?”

“Two words: interpretive dance.” 

“Tell me some new gossip.”

“There isn’t any.” That wasn’t entirely true, but Haldir couldn’t be bothered to recall the details of the smut Orophin had shared with him earlier in the day.

“Can’t you at least sing for me?” asked Celeborn.

“What? No. And if you ask me again, I’m getting up and sticking you with the bar tab.” Of course, Haldir fully intended to do that anyway. 

Celeborn frowned and folded his arms over his chest. He’d been in Aman six months and had completely exhausted every possible means of entertainment. How he was supposed to remain here for eternity was beyond him. Every day was the same. Yoga in the morning, the pool after lunch, dinner at the cafe in the evening. On the weekends, he played croquet with Elrond just to break up the routine. He hated croquet. “There has to be something more than this.”

“I heard Irmo is leading a class on dream interpretation and revealing unconscious desires at the Learning Arts Center this afternoon. Give it a try,” said Haldir, hoping with every fiber of his being that Celeborn would just shut up.

Celeborn snorted. “I am already taking that class. I’d compare it to watching paint dry.” It’s not that Irmo was boring, per se, it was more that his intensity left Celeborn unsettled. It took a lot to unsettle Celeborn, so that was saying something. Lots of after class, one-on-one assignments, extra credit, hands-on activities. Irmo called it “adult learning practices.” Celeborn called it disconcerting. Even now, the thought of Irmo flustered him.

He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the lounge chair. Everyone else in Aman seemed perfectly content. Happy, even. Elves and elleth splashed in the sparkling pool, chatted under brightly colored umbrellas and smiled at each other over fruity drinks. What was the secret to their happiness? He had no idea, but he suspected it was not found in his glass of rum punch, despite the bartender’s assurances to the contrary. “I think I’m going to take a walk,” he said as he slid his feet into his flip flops.

He shuffled along the pool deck, careful to avoid being splashed. When he first arrived in Aman, he was a bit of a novelty. Celeborn, Lord of Lórien! Elves went out of their way to greet him, say hello, tell him how much they used to enjoy visiting his realm. Now…nothing. If a single elf glanced at him as he strolled past, he wasn’t aware of it. He sighed and kept walking.

An oversized coffee mug sat on a patio table at the far end of the pool deck. Curious, Celeborn ambled over and picked it up. _Good morning. I see the assassins have failed_ , was written in fancy green script on one side. Celeborn frowned. Who would put something so distasteful and tacky on the side of a perfectly good mug? He placed his folded towel on the table, slipped the mug underneath it and sat down to wait. Whoever the owner was would come looking for it eventually, and he’d be there to set him straight. 

An hour passed with no sign of the mug’s owner. Celeborn shifted uncomfortably in his chair. His nose felt sunburned. Just when he decided to go in search of some zinc oxide, a long, elf-shaped shadow fell across the table. He looked up and squinted. Thranduil of Mirkwood, sporting what was quite possibly the tiniest swimsuit in all of Aman. Celeborn pursed his lips in disapproval.

“I don’t suppose you have found a mug, have you?” Thranduil flipped his hair over his shoulder and peered down his nose at Celeborn. “I think I left it here earlier.”

“I’m not sure,” said Celeborn. “Describe it for me.”

“White with green writing,” Thranduil replied. “My son gave it to me before he left with that malodorous dwarf to explore the glittering caves.” 

Celeborn rubbed his chin thoughtfully. The sort of mug hidden under his towel was certainly not the sort one would give as a gift to one’s father. Thranduil had to be describing a different mug. “I haven’t seen one fitting that description.”

“Oh.” Thranduil wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Do you mind if I borrow your towel? I’m wilting in this heat.”

Before Celeborn could stop him, Thranduil plucked the towel off the table. The mug wrapped inside hit the concrete, bounced once and then shattered into pieces. Thranduil looked aghast. Celeborn froze when he realized the mug in question did indeed belong to Thranduil. “I can explain.”

Thranduil cocked his head. “Really? I hope so, because it looks to me like you stole my mug and the lied about it.” He bent down and rested his hands on the arms of Celeborn’s chair. “Do you know what the Valar do with thieves? I hear it’s ghastly.” His lips curled into a cruel smile.

Celeborn blanched. “No, no, no! I found the mug and kept it to see who it belonged to, and I didn’t think anything so crass could possibly be a gift from your son…”

“Crass?!” Thranduil’s eyes narrowed. “If I were you, I’d stop while I were ahead.”

“Perhaps ‘crass’ was the wrong term.” Celeborn put on his most innocent expression. “I promise I didn’t take your mug. You’re not going to turn me in, are you?”

Thrandiul stood up and straightened his shoulders. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Celeborn reviewed his two meager options: bow and scrape. “I’ll do anything I can to make things right.”

“Well. I do like the sound of that.” Thranduil rested his hands on his slim hips and smiled. “Just think of all the wonderful possibilities the word ‘anything’ can encompass.” 

Celeborn’s eyes narrowed. Thranduil wasn’t going to let him off easily. “I didn’t actually mean anything, but rather anything within reason.”

“Come to my place after dinner tonight with an appropriate retribution, and I’ll consider forgetting the whole thing.” Thrandiul eyed the ruins of his mug that still lay on the concrete pool deck. “And sweep up before you leave.” He turned and left in a flounce of blond hair and attitude.

Celeborn pinched the bridge of his nose. Before the night was over, he’d probably have to grovel or kneel or perform some sort of bizarre Mirkwood apology ritual. On the bright side, at least he wouldn’t be bored.

From the other side of the pool deck, hidden behind a trashy novel and cheap sunglasses, a pair of dark eyes took in the entire scene. 

~*~

“Okay, let’s think this through,” said Haldir half an hour later. He rubbed his chin and watched as Celeborn paced back and forth in his apartment. “Thranduil said he wanted an appropriate retribution, so that implies a gift equal to or greater than the mug you destroyed.”

Celeborn stopped pacing long enough to scowl at Haldir. “I did not destroy his mug. He’s the one who broke it. I was merely hiding it in my towel.”

“Whatever,” Haldir replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “We need to think of what to give him. What sort of things do Mirkwood elves like? Other than twigs and berries, I mean.”

“I have no idea,” griped Celeborn. “They’re an odd bunch, what with the living in caves and the prancing about with deer antlers on their heads.”

Haldir sat up straighter in his chair. “Thranduil is still at the pool, right?”

“Probably. Based on the shade of his tan, I’m guessing spends every daylight hour baking himself to a crisp.”

“Perfect,” said Haldir. “That gives you time to sneak into his apartment and take a look around. You can see what sort of things he likes, what hobbies he has, what his color scheme is…and then we can choose a present.”

“Oh, that’s brilliant,” cried Celeborn. “I knew there was a reason I kept you on as Marchwarden.”

Haldir shrugged. As long as his paycheck kept coming, the reason didn’t matter.

~*~

Celeborn crept in through the back entrance of the Greenwood Village apartment complex, careful to make sure he wasn’t spotted. According to Orophin, who made it his business to know everyone else’s business, Thranduil lived on the bottom floor, apartment 12A. 

The side window was open just a crack. Celeborn eased it up and peered inside. The afternoon sun illuminated the far side of the room, leaving the area closest to the window in shadow. After flinging a quick glance over his shoulder, Celeborn threw a leg over the windowsill and climbed inside. 

It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Celeborn blinked, and then gaped in undisguised shock at the contraption right next to him. “Stars!” he exclaimed, wandering over to inspect the gleaming chrome monster. He reached up and tugged at a handled pulley that dangled from the top of it. A series of metal plates near the floor clanged together with an ominous sound. “Is this some sort of orcish torture device?” Carefully, he scanned the room once more, making mental notes about the random and assorted handles and straps strewn about on the floor.

A collection of brightly colored mugs were displayed on a bookshelf near the kitchen. _Coffee really gets you going_ , read a bright green one emblazoned with a white toilet. A flaming orange one next to it screamed, _You seize the day, I’ll seize another cup of coffee_. Compared to some of the mugs on the shelves, the one Celeborn broke seemed positively tame. 

At that very moment, a key turned in the lock to the front door. Celeborn dashed to the window and flung himself back through it, onto the shrubbery below. Just as his backside hit the soft pine straw, a brilliant idea popped into his head. Celeborn picked himself up, brushed himself off and set off at a determined pace. He had a couple of stops to make before dinner.

Thranduil flipped on the overhead lights in his apartment and looked around warily. He could have sworn he’d heard scuffling just as he opened the door, but nothing in the room seemed amiss. A small white smudge contrasted with the black leather on the seat of his weight machine. He frowned and swiped it with a forefinger. Zinc oxide. Only one elf complained of sunburns and wore zinc oxide: Celeborn. Thranduil hoisted an eyebrow. What on Arda was that elf up to?

~*~

“Absolutely not,” sniffed Haldir at the outfit in question.

“It wasn’t a request.” Celeborn pointed expectantly to the black leather pants and matching vest. “I know nothing about the particular brand of bondage kink that Thranduil likes and you do. If the evening heads south, I want a back-up plan.”

“Since when is dressing like something out of a Feanorian nightmare part of my job description?” Haldir crossed his hands over his chest.

“Since I just doubled your salary.”

Haldir snatched the outfit off of the sofa. “Where should I change?”

~*~

It took a bit of wrangling to stuff all of Haldir into the leather outfit, but the result was phenomenal. He cut a sleek form in the black leather, with his silver hair in a thick plait down his back. It was perfect.

“Stop fidgeting,” chided Celeborn for the thousandth time. He smoothed his own sleeveless summer robe with his hands and glanced at Haldir. “You look fine.”

Haldir tugged at his outfit. The pants were tighter than he was used to wearing. “I’m not used to my goods being on display,” he griped. 

Celeborn knocked on the door to Thranduil’s apartment and waited anxiously. “Just let me do the talking,” he said.

Thranduil opened the door and eyed them both with surprise. “Good evening, Celeborn…Haldir. I wasn’t expecting both of you.”

That much was obvious. Why, the elf hadn’t even bothered to change out of his lounge wear. He sported an obnoxiously bright flowered shirt over the top of some equally blinding shorts. Not at all the sort of outfit one should wear to receive guests. Celeborn felt miffed. An elf of his station was worth at least a change of clothing. 

“We won’t stay long,” said Celeborn with a pointed look at Thranduil’s flip-flops. “I can see you aren’t prepared to receive company.”

Thranduil arched an eyebrow and held the door open. “I didn’t realize my apartment had a dress code.” He gestured toward the sofa. “Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, no,” said Celeborn. He held out a poorly wrapped present with a lopsided bow precariously tied on one side. “Here. It’s a small token, but one that I hope you will appreciate.”

Thranduil tore open the paper. Inside the wrapping lay an oversized coffee mug. _Coffee keeps me going until it is acceptable to drink wine_ was written in fancy blue script on the side. He held it up and smiled. “I do, Celeborn. Thank you. It will fit in nicely with the rest of my mug collection.”

Haldir shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other and cleared his throat. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here.”

“The thought had crossed my mind, yes,” replied Thranduil. He eyed Haldir’s outfit with curiosity. “Is that some sort of Lorien apology attire? It’s not a bad look.”

“No,” said Haldir. “It’s…it was suggested that you might enjoy this sort of thing, given your proclivity for bondage, and I am familiar with that particular concept.”

Thranduil’s face registered pure shock. “What?! Bondage? Where did you get that idea?”

“That contraption right there,” said Celeborn. He stepped forward and pointed to the chrome and leather nightmare that was against the far wall.

“My total body gym and weight trainer? It’s a fitness machine, not a torture device. Surely you have seen one of these before. They’ve been all the rage in Mirkwood for years.” Thranduil shook his head in disbelief. 

“Oh! I’ve heard of these but I haven’t actually seen one before,” exclaimed Haldir. He rushed over to it and sat down on the leather bench. “Does it work?”

Thranduil rolled up the sleeve of his shirt and flexed his bicep. “You tell me.”

Haldir smiled appreciatively. “Yes, yes it does.” He crossed his legs, flipped his hair over his shoulder and smiled lazily up at Thranduil. “Could I possibly talk you into a demonstration?”

“I can walk you through an entire workout routine, if you have time.” Thranduil eyed Haldir’s snug leather pants. “Though you may need to change. Workouts can get rather…heated.”

“That sounds like my sort of evening,” Haldir purred.

Celeborn smiled to himself and backed toward the door. “If there’s nothing else, I will take my leave.”

Neither of the other two elves paid him one bit of attention, so he left quietly and eased the door shut behind him. Things had gone even better than he had hoped. Thranduil no longer hated him, Haldir found a partner who could hold his gnat-like attention, and he’d had a fun evening of matchmaking.

The evening breeze coming off the sea felt cool against Celeborn’s bare arms. He rubbed them absently and strolled back to his cottage on the edge of the sand dunes. 

A tall elf stood on his porch facing the surf, the wind whipping his dark hair into a frenzied swirl behind him. “That didn’t take long,” he said.

“I got a little helpful advice from a friend,” Celeborn replied with a grin. He climbed the steps to the porch and leaned against the wooden railing. “Though I must confess that the weight machine threw me for a loop.”

The elf chuckled. “So, now you’re calling me helpful. Wasn’t it only a few hours ago you said I more boring than drying paint?”

“My exact words were ‘I’d compare it to watching paint dry’, but technically, yes. I did call your class boring.” Celeborn cut his eyes toward his companion. “I’m becoming quite the liar. I wonder what that says about my values.”

Irmo reached for Celeborn’s hand and brought it to his lips. “I told you they were perfect for each other. It was fun, wasn’t it? And you get an ‘A’ for effort.” 

Celeborn had the grace to blush. It wasn’t every day that one found himself being courted by a Vala. “You were right. I never knew meddling in someone’s love life could be so satisfying.”

“I choose to view it as encouraging the progression of achieving one’s desires,” Irmo said with a grin. He pulled Celeborn close and wrapped his arms around him. “Tell me, my dear. What is it that you desire?”

“I think you already know.” Celeborn raised his eyes to meet Irmo’s intense gaze. Desire shivered through him and he slid his hands up Irmo’s broad chest.

“Hmm, yes,” breathed Irmo against Celeborn’s lips, “but I want you to tell me.”

“You,” murmured Celeborn before the rest of his words were stolen by a fiery kiss that he felt all the way to the tips of his toes.

When at last they parted, breathless, panting and eager for more, Irmo took Celeborn’s hand once more. “Shall we?” he asked, gesturing to the cottage.

“Oh, yes. And then after, we can plot what to do about Orophin.”


End file.
